He Loves Her
by Lyric Medlie
Summary: He loves her. There are not many other ways to explain his feelings. He tries and tries to think of another word, another phrase, another sentence, but once he's thought long and hard, he comes to the same conclusion he had before.


We all have five beautiful senses. The ability to smell, to see, to hear, to feel and to taste. Each brings a new way to experience life and to fully understand something. Each sense is useful in it's own special way. Each is very unique. The lack of one may make us surrender certain parts of life. Without one, **he** realized, he wouldn't be able to fully love and appreciate her.

_he_ _smells_ _her_

Like flowers, like some heavenly scent. It's purely her scent. It's what he smells, even before he sees her. The floral scent that lifts his spirits, and his heart when he smells it. The smell that when he's in their room and he catches a whiff, he'll turn to see if it's her.

If ever asked what his favorite smell was, he wouldn't answer the smell of his favorite dessert, treacle tart, and not the smell of his favorite sport, Quidditch, it would be the smell of his favorite girl, the love of his life. And when he was given the chance, he told her just that.

_he_ _sees_ _her_

Gorgeous. Precious. Angelic. Delightful. Light. Love.

Just a glance is all he needs to fill his empty heart.

Her beautiful, warm, inviting, captivating, chocolate brown eyes; the gorgeous eyes that he never wants to look away from. The eyes that don't just glance into his, but pierce his. The eyes that see his heart and soul and all of his love for her. The wonderful eyes that see the beauty of life. They're her eyes and he loves them.

Her fiery red hair that cascades down her back in bouncy waves. Her hair that seems to have energy to it; the same energy she possesses. Her hair is one of the many things that make her who she is. It's what makes her the gorgeous woman she is, and he loves it.

And he sees her adorable, loving, warm, friendly smile. They type of gorgeous smile that lights up her whole face and even reaches her eyes. The smile that makes others smile too, the smile that he'll never get tired of seeing, the one that always lifts his day, the one that plays at her precious lips. The same lips that he loves to kiss; that he'll always love to kiss.

He sees her creamy, freckled, gorgeous, curvy body. The beautiful body that he has the luckiest privilege to study. They body that is purely hers, down to each and every freckle. The body that's hers, but she's allowed him to love; and he does.

He sees her do all the things she does best. Whether it's playing Quidditch, or excitedly telling a story. The way she reacts to different things excites him. The way she is herself, makes him glad he can see.

_he_ _hears_ _her_

"What does she sound like?" he asks himself.

He sits at a comfy armchair and ponders the question. As he thinks, and lets the warmth of the fire envelope him, a few ideas come to mind.

She sounds like the tinkering, jingling sound of a fairy's voice when she laughs. Her laughter sounds like joy, like love, like innocence. When she easily giggles and lets her face lit up, the jingle is like that of a wind-chime, echoing throughout the land. And her laughter like the melody of a gorgeous symphony.

And late at night, as she lays in bed and falls asleep, her breathing is deep and rhythmic. Each exhaled breath carries a bit of her. The sound of her deep even breathing, reminds him of a light, beautiful breeze on a nice, spring day. The sound of her sleeping is safety and comfort to him, and reassurance.

She sounds like an angel when she speaks. Her voice is full of love and warmth, coming from each word that escapes between her gorgeous lips. The sound that's lighter than the breeze, warmer than a fire and brighter than the sun.

_he_ _feels_ _her_

He feels everything about her. Her soft, creamy skin, her precious, luscious lips, her soft, long tendrils, even her deep, passionate love for him.

He loves to run his hand through her hair, and feel the silky strands against his fingers. He loves the way her lips feel as he brushes them with his own. And he loves the feel of her soft, creamy skin. The way it feels so soft and delicate against his own rough yet tender skin.

He loves to place a hand on her chest and feel her steady, rhythmic heart beat, assuring him that she's real and she's really there.

He loves the feel of her feet and legs as they wrap around his own at night in bed. He loves to be wrapped and intertwined with her as they sleep in each other's arms.

And when he wakes in the morning, and feels her delicate head rested on his chest, his heart swells with love for her.

He feels her deep, and true love for him with only a glance. In her eyes she holds all of her love for him. She loves to show him and he loves to receive.

But what really makes him feel completely at home, and completely at peace, is when she is in his arms. When he holds her close and he can feel everything about her is when he's most happy. The feeling of home and love and pure bliss is what she will always bring him.

_he tastes her_

Something sweet, and enticing. Something almost chocolaty, and addicting.

The simple taste he gets when she places feather light kisses on his lips.

But how he really tastes her is in the wonderful, addicting, passionate snogs they share. Or the taste that doesn't have any adjective, besides _her_, is that of her luscious, creamy skin. The taste he only gets by suckling her neck, or by loving her.

She tastes like nothing he's ever tasted fore. Like everything he's ever wanted.

He sometimes thinks of how lucky he is to know her taste, and to be the only one who does.

_he loves her_

He loves absolutely everything about her, down to every last beautiful freckle.

He loves her simplicity, and her extravagance. Her inner and outer beauty. Her fiery temper, and gentle, loving side. Her energy, and her calm demeanor. Every tiny piece of her is very important to him, for it makes her **her**. He loves the way she can be yelling at him for something he's not quite sure of, and the next be wrapped up in his arms as they share a passionate kiss. He loves the way that she doesn't let other people sway who she is, and that she will always stand up for what she believes in.

Once, when he was asked why exactly he loved her, he answered with all the love and passion in not his body, but his heart and soul. He told of all the wonderful times they'd shared, all the wonderful characteristics that make her who she is, the wonderful person she is, and then, with all the words he knew, he spoke of his love.

He loves her. There are not many other ways to explain his feelings. He tries and tries to think of another word, another phrase, another sentence, but once he's thought long and hard, he comes to the same conclusion he had before. The words '_I love you'_ were written for a reason. A reason that he has become to understand by having her in his life. The reason being that no other words will fit. The full, calming, peaceful, grateful, overwhelming feeling that comes deep within your soul is called _love_. And it's called _love_ because no other words can fit the feeling right.

At night, as he eases into bed after a long, hard, tiring day, he'll never forget to tell her those simple words, how could he forget? He'll never ever forget to remind her. So, as the lights flip off, and her body sinks onto the bed, he grabs her and pulls her into his arms.

"Did I tell you that I love you today?" he asks.

"I know you do," she'll answer back.

"I haven't even said it yet," he'll murmur back as he kisses her gently.

"I know," she smiles at the attention he's currently paying her neck.

"I love you," he decides to ignore her previous words.

"I love you, too," she tells him, her voice filled with only a fraction of how much she truly does love him.

"So much," he decides to add as an after thought, although she's already spoken back.

"I know," she says.

"But I do," he says, his voice full of comfort and love. "I love you more than anything,"

"I love you, too," she'll make sure she's never last to speak.

"Don't ever forget it, love," he says.

"How could I?" she asks, a hint of laughter in her voice.

"Just don't forget," he says again.

"I won't, honey."

"Good. I love you,"

"I love you, too,"


End file.
